


He is alone

by CryptidPrynt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ALSO BARE WITH ME THIS IS MY FIRST FIC IDK HOW TO TAG ANYTHING, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sad Ending, The Magnus Archives Season 3, The Magnus Archives Season 4, ill figure it out, its both?? kindof????, whole things depressing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:36:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidPrynt/pseuds/CryptidPrynt
Summary: Breekon tries to think about the events leading up to him sobbing in a delivery van on the side of the highway.
Relationships: Breekon/Hope
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	He is alone

Breekon tries to think about the events leading up to him sobbing in a delivery van on the side of the highway. 

It's not flattering, the way he's acting. A stuffed up and runny nose congesting the choked sobs and sharp wails that come out of him unpermitted. He cries pathetically into his hands, covering his face and soaked with unending tears. It hurts, the place where he thinks his heart once was. It aches horribly. His wet hands and tears shield his vision from the slow-rolling fog beginning to surround the van outside, as well as the steadily lowering temperature.  
His head hurts, but he tries to think about how he got here. He was driving... driving away. What was he driving from? He ponders, unsuccessfully wiping away tears. The museum... he was driving away from the wax museum. As he was driving, he was overcome with the sudden realization that he was alone. Before he could even process the feeling, it overtook him, and his eyes were glassy and he couldn't see correctly. His shoulders shook and he let out the first of many, many sobs as he slowed down and stopped off the side of the road. That's how he got there.

It was shocking, how quickly the emotions came on. Normally he was good at suppressing feelings, for the times he did feel any. But he was broken, now. So, brutally broken inside and all the thoughts he was trying to push back came flowing full force to the front of his mind. 

Breekon realized he was alone. Being alone released the waterworks; such a simple thing to crush a man so hard. But as he stopped the van, he realized how truly alone he was. It was the first time he had been fully emersed in solitude. He had spent the past few hours surrounded by police and firemen, sitting in the aftermath of an explosion. Only now, driving to nowhere at 2:34 in the morning did he truly feel the silence. There was no sound of another person breathing. No sensation of someone else's presence. There was no static-y voice in his head saying things that only he could hear. There was nothing.  
He never had nothing before. 

The solitude was painful. Breekon was all by himself for the first time in centuries. He had nothing anymore. No companionship, no deliveries, no comfort. Nothing but a blood-splattered coffin sitting in the back of the van, silent and satisfied. No longer hungry, at the sacrifice of one of its handlers. It had hardly been the last thing on Breekon's mind, had it not been hauled back to him by some police officer. He didn't consider the coffin, then. The only thing on his mind was his companion's body limp in his arms.

Breekon allows himself to think about Hope. He thinks about the sensation of holding him, lifeless and cold. He wails and cries harder remembering the immediate horror that struck his face as hid throat ripped open by surprise. Neither of them expected it. He thought about the feeling of heavy weight that washed over him the very moment Hope had died, followed by the rush of unbridled rage as he threw that damned officer into the buried. He remembered feeling breathless, slumped over the coffin lid, enraged and disoriented and heaving heavily. It was so hard to turn around and look at Hope's face, stuck horrified and in pain. It hurt Breekon, too, emotionally and physically. He dragged himself over. Breekon remembers holding his face, telling him _look at me, Hope, please just look at me, Hope look, please,_ only to receive no answer. He remembers closing his gaping mouth and dragging a shaking hand over his eyes, closing them permanently. He had begun to cry, then. Not strong and agonizing just yet, only small sobs and sniffles. He remembered the rumbling, but he does not remember the explosion. He recalls nothing after curling himself around Hope to protect his lifeless body.

Breekon's memory becomes fuzzy after the explosion. The steam organs joyful tune halted abruptly and gave way to screams of agony. His ears rang sharply, and the museum crumbled around him. Large slabs of concrete and stone hit him hard, the wind blowing his hat off and throwing debris in his face. It hurt him. But he did not move, and he did not let go of Hope. He does not recall how long he kneeled under the rubble, nor it being pulled away from him by firemen. He does, however, remember snarling at the paramedics trying to pry him away. They asked if he was alright, touched his shoulder, but he did not notice them. He only snapped out of his daze when they reached to pull Hope out of his arms. Breekon snapped at the paramedics, told them not to touch him. He wouldn't have let go, had his attention not been brought to the coffin. They asked if it was his, and he said yes. They did not question why, they just let him have it. The paramedics tried to console him, to tell him it's alright and he could let go now. He had no energy to argue. He let go of Hope, but not without taking something.  
Remembering where he put it, Breekon pulls out the gold ring that was once on Hope's finger. He turns it in his hands, observing it. He looks at the engraving on the inside: a small heart carved by hand. Breekon remembers it being his idea, just a secret little thing. Personal, only for them to know. It was... cheesy, perhaps... but he didn't care. It was special.  
He is too focused on the ring to notice the fog rolling in thicker, nor the lack of noise from the road.

The ring makes Breekon think of their purpose together. They'd always relished in making people afraid, looming over them, watching them become more and more unnerved in their presence. His favorite thing, though, was when people would notice the rings. They would glance down and the discomfort in their expressions would turn to confusion. Sometimes, if they really wanted to get it across, they would subtly intertwine their pinkies and wait for whoever it was they were with to notice. They'd look, momentarily considering _that can't be right, really?_ and shake their head in surprise. They'd turn away, then, perplexed and a little unnerved, and Breekon and Hope would smile and their fingers would intertwine. It was amusing, scaring and confusing all they came across. It was their purpose, and they loved it. They loved each other.

And now look at where they are.

Breekon stops himself, not wanting to think about that just yet. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel and wraps his arms around himself, noticing the cold air for the first time. He ignores it and tries to think of another happy memory. He skims through his three century-long catalog of memories and finds himself thinking about Hope's laughter. It was the most beautiful sound, he thought. His darling Hope would laugh at almost anything, and it was delightful to hear him even snicker and the slightest remark.  
Breekon was usually quiet if Hope wouldn't say something first. He wouldn't come off as one for jokes to most people. But privately, in their own company, he would make a little comment or crack a joke that would make Hope cackle. He never joked much around anyone else. His remarks and and silly thoughts were saved only for Hope. Breekon would make him laugh on purpose, occasionally, just to feel it's contagion. Hope would laugh, and then Breekon would laugh, and they'd be laughing at nothing together for a while. Hope's giggles and snickers were a drug. It was beautiful.  
Everything about Hope was beautiful, though. His laughter, as well as his regular speaking voice. Low and nearly a growl. It would give Breekon shivers to hear him speak in close quarters, quietly and only to him. His teeth were sharp and animalistic, a grinning threat to those they encountered. Breekons special favorite thing about Hope we're his eyes, dark and looming, never changing no matter whose face he wore. They were cold. Emotionless. But to Breekon? They were wonderful. Filled with so much tenderness when they were alone together, a tenderness meant only for him. Hope's eyes would peer into him, peer deep into his soul, and he would let them.

He pondered a moment about that. About how they were so warm to one another. They were soulmates, in the most literal, mortal way it could be thought of. They thought as one. They spoke as one. They were whole together.

And now they were half. He remembers they are half now, and his smile turns into a grimace, and he sobs once more. The twinge at the pit of his stomach returns, and he curls in on himself in agony. Breekon forgets the momentary bliss he felt just seconds ago and swears violently to the empty space next to him. He swears at Nikola, for attempting a ritual at all. He swears at the cop, for ripping apart the love of his life. He swears at the coffin, for being so greedy and heartless. He swears at himself, for not acting fast enough to save the only thing he had in this world. He screams and he screams and there is nothing there to hear him.  
There is nothing anywhere but a heavy, cold fog that swallows the van outside.

Breekon wallows for a long time. He does not know how long. His throat hurts from yelling and his eyes burn from crying. He is alone, and he always will be.

Then suddenly... There is a car horn. It is loud, and it startles Breekon out of his miserable state. He forgot where he was, he was sitting on the side of the road. He was driving away from the wax museum. He realized he was alone.  
The time on the dashboard says 2:35 AM. He was sitting for a minute. A full minute that felt like hours. He stares at the headlights passing next to him, and realizes he shouldn't be parked on the side of the road.

Breekon puts the thoughts of loneliness and Hope and loss aside. He does not wish to spiral any further. He wipes the remaining tears away from his eyes and sniffles. He is alone, and from now on he always will be. Breekon does not think any more of the events that led him here, and he turns off the side of the highway.

**Author's Note:**

> hello there!! thank you for reading my first fic! i got pretty tired of not seeing a lot of b+h content on here (besides in the background or *extremely* nsfw) so I'm here to make content that I wanna see in the world lol. its pretty short and sad but I might churn out something sweeter at some point. thanks for reading!! :D


End file.
